The holiday spirit is in full swing here. Henry and I stomped around the deck on Sunday, shoveled off a foot of new powder, and finally hung some icicle lights. I started a nail every so often, wound the wires around it, and then stepped back to check on my helper. He was very interested in using the broom rather than the shovel, mostly because the shovel is a bit cumbersome for his gloved hands. When they were all hung as best could be, I held up the supervisor and he tapped each nail a few times with my hammer (he refused to use his plastic hammer -- he knows the real stuff when he sees it). We experimented with the blinking frequencies on the lights and decided to just have them on and simply avoid the seizure inducing settings.

It's all about songs lately. "Daddy, sing 'Who wouldn't know." "Sing 'Jingle Bells." I always comply. I usually know the refrains just fine, but the verses are tough. What I forget, I just make up and keep going. Henry seems to enjoy it, but more importantly he obviously recognizes my little tricks. "Daddy, sing about "Jeep/Snowplow/Dump Truck/etc." Over and over again the requests come, and each time Daddy's song is different, even if the vehicle is the same.



The floor in the master bath is getting the boot and like all projects, Hank is involved. He gathered his toolbox, hard hat, carhartt's, and came on up. I gave him a dull scraper and off he went. His enthusiasm lasted about 15 minutes, but for that quarter hour, he was a machine.

For some reason December 7th was stuck in my mind as St Nick's day, but thanks to a few posts on facebook, we were quickly reminded that it was the 6th. St Nick already had his presents prepared so we were not taken aback. We told Henry how he had to leave his boots out for St Nick and he quickly complied, placing them on the steps so St Nick wouldn't be able to miss them. Henry is enjoying (read: occasionally breaking) the Christmas decorations around our home and is definitely getting a sense of the season. He is able to clearly say Santa and if his excitement for St Nick was any evidence, he's going to be pretty pumped for Christmas Eve.



Henry and I sat down to build a small toolbox (thanks, Home Depot). He really seemed to enjoy the sanding and hammering portions, though in the end he only wanted to find a way to use his drill. Life is always exciting when you begin a project with the sentence "Go get your tools!"

Last year's visit with Santa was an experiment in terror, so we crossed our fingers and let bygones be bygones. That was 17 month old Henry. We're now living in the age of 29 month old Hank.

We prepped him in the days leading up, "Santa is coming soon! What are you going to ask him for?"

The answers were clear -- "Presents" and "Delimber." A succinct desire.



Aside from talking up Santa, we knew props would be necessary. If you look closely in the picture you'll see that Henry is not about to let go of those trucks. It all worked out very well. Santa talked with him a bit and asked him several times what he would like for Christmas. Henry sat politely and happily, but would not offer a single word. A few smirks, no tears, so off we went to the museum.

The museum is always fun, but it seemed an especially wise choice on a day that started at -11. It may have warmed up to 0 by the time Henry was running around the exhibits, which only confirmed that we had a good Saturday plan.



Thanksgiving was a great time as always. Henry and Bella played very well with each other and there was way too much delicious food. Life is pretty good.

The snow is here as are the nights below zero and Henry loves it as long as the sled is part of the equation. And if dump truck and excavator are in the mix, well that is always a cause for happiness. I'd like it if we could get another snow dump or two to get the nordic ski trails ready to go. We are making ice every day, so the hockey skates will be in motion within a week.

On Saturday the sun had long set and the temps plunged quickly into the low teens, yet Henry only wanted to keep sledding down the hill at Baxter elementary. As chilly as that was, the truth is that he was geared up just fine. The cheeks never became fullly blown red and the smiles continued, so we kept sledding away. I did wisely text ahead to Becky for some hot (eh, more so warm) chocolate for the big guy.  After an hour at 12 degrees he happily chugged down his treat.

We all piled in the 4Runner for a Sunday field trip to Costco. Henry's buckles were snapped in and Becky turned the key.

Groan, click, click, click.

We sighed. "Try it again."

Click, click, click. "Well, time for a new battery."

The day before it started but needed to crank really hard. The battery is 12 years old, so we quickly decided to buy a new one. The field trip rolled back into the house and Henry ran for the fridge, opened it, grab something, and shut the door. Very quickly he walked to where I stood and placed a package of AAA batteries in front of me. Problem solved.

When I returned with a new battery I was told that all of the cars had been placed uniformly on the kitchen floor. When Becky asked what was happening to the cars she was given a simple answer. "Car needs a battery."

 

Sometimes you see the wheels spinning clearly in Henry's eyes and for a brief moment you know precisely the assumptions and choices that led him to his present conclusion. If you blink you'll miss your chance and the revealing moment will scurry back into the ether (like Bigfoot into the deep woods). I cherish these moments when I catch them.

Whenever Henry sprouts a new 1/4 inch in height, he drifts around and tries to touch everything he couldn't the week before. Call it doing rounds. He's still unable to flick on our gas fireplace, but is close enough to call my attention to the switch. He stretched his arm up as much as he could and showed deep desire in his eyes.

"That switch isn't safe. We can't turn the fire on." I waved my hands in a "no" sign.

He processes it for a few moments, then almost turned white.

"The fire isn't safe."

He seriously looked around the room and keyed in on the baseboards. He then began slowly touching the baseboards, looking up at the switch, meeting my eyes, and then repeated himself -- all with deep intensity.

The conclusion was clear -- that switch made fire shoot out of our baseboards. If he wants to believe that and stay away from the switch, I think that's great.

Now that the dust has settled on Halloween we can confirm that Henry collected a ton of candy thanks to two Trunk-or-Treats and a single lap through a Chugiak subdivision.

The odd thing is that we had zero visitors at our home. Knowing we would be away, we turned on the porch light and placed a basket of candy on the salt bucket, clear and obvious. Because I'm wired up this way, I counted 15 kit-kats to lay on top of the plethora of suckers. There was plenty of candy for all visitors, but knowing how many kit-kats were in play would allow us to reverse engineer the happenings. All 15 remained. What a dud. I can't think they pushed them aside to get at the suckers.



After many years unscathed in the hands of cousins Cody and Nick, Henry has become the one to defeat the forklift. To be clear, lately it has been declared a Feller Buncher and has spent its time lifting and cutting plastic trees. Maybe those trees were just too big (probably redwoods).